


One Week

by ainm



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, M/M, challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:01:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ainm/pseuds/ainm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim's repressed guilty conscience explodes when he hears a certain song one time too many.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Week

## One Week

#### by ainm

Author's website: <http://www.geocities.com/ainm66/TS/>  
Neither The Sentinel nor the Barenaked Ladies song "One Week" belong to me, much as I might love them both. Making no money, intending no copyright infringement.  
Once again, thanks to all the kind folks at Sentinel Thursday!  
Written for the Sentinel Thursday challenge to use Blair's "one week, man" line from "The Debt." Set (not immediately) after SenTooP2, which I am calling the summer of 1998. Rating is for the foul language of an overstressed Jim; don't expect actual sex. :-)  


* * *

" _It's been one week since you looked at me_ _Dropped your arms to your sides and said 'I'm sorry'_ _Five days since I laughed at you and said_ _'You just did just what I thought you were gonna do'_ " 

Jim punched the button on the radio to stop the damned song, and glared at the traffic jam that was trapping him in the truck. It wasn't that he _hated_ the song, not exactly... and he had to admit it was catchy. Listening to Blair trying to sing the fast parts in the shower was endlessly entertaining. 

But it was impossible to scan the radio dial without it coming up at least once, and he was at his wit's end. It made him feel... damn, he hated to hear that song. 

It made him feel guilty. OK, fine, he could admit it to himself. Guilty for all the stupid, fucked-up things he'd done to Blair, guilty for not listening... the lyrics made him squirm in their own right. 

But they also brought back echoes of another "one week" statement. He could still hear it if he tried -- he'd thought about it enough back in the beginning that the track was laid down indelibly in his brain. 

"Jim, one week. One week, and I promise, I promise, we'll be out of your hair. Come on. One week, man." 

Yeah. One week. 

At first he was counting down the days until that week was over. Then the week was long gone and he hardly noticed. Then he realized that he'd be in deep shit if _Sandburg_ noticed the week was up, the year was up... if he decided to move on to less cramped and more private quarters, shack up with some sweet girl or go on an expedition to fucking _Borneo_... 

But he didn't. Forget one week, it's been _years_ , and Blair had hung in there, through all kinds of amazing shit, endlessly resourceful and strong and funny and helpful and... 

...and what does _he_ do? He puts Blair out on the street himself. And damn if they don't both pay the price -- in the name of protecting his guide, he gets him killed. Some fucking luck they've got. But hey, it's OK, he got better... 

One week. Yeah. 

* * *

He could hear it before he even opened the door -- no big surprise there. 

" _It's been one week since you looked at me_ _Threw your arms in the air and said you're crazy_ _Five days since you tackled me_  
 _I've still got the rug burns on both my knees_ " 

And OK, fine, he could take a fucking hint from the universe when it smacked him over the head, but what he couldn't take was this song, one more fucking time, or Blair, saying those words, ever again. 

"OK! OK! I'm sorry!" he shouted, standing just inside the doorway. 

"Jim!" 

"I'm sorry, I'm an idiot, I'll make it up to you, just don't go. And turn off that fucking song!" 

"Jim, you're making me nervous here." Blair moved to turn off the CD player. "What are you _talking_ about?" 

"I admit it, OK? I fuck up endlessly, OK? But I'm admitting it! I'm sorry!" 

"What did you _do_ , man?" 

"What _didn't_ I do, Sandburg? But I need you, OK? I'm telling you. Do you hear me?" 

"I'm... not sure, OK? Can we sit down? I thought you were just catching up on some paperwork, man -- how much trouble could you have gotten into?" 

"Not _today_ , Sandburg." 

Blair gestured for him to come to the sofa, but when he didn't move, he grabbed Jim's hand and dragged him. 

"OK, let me see here," Blair started when they were both sitting down. "You've done things, and you're sorry." 

"Yeah. God, I can't stand that song." 

"And the song has what to do with it?" 

"It's taunting me." 

"Jim, man, I've heard people say that if they hear a certain song one more time, they're going to scream, but this is... extreme." 

"One week, Blair. One week." 

"Right..." 

"It's been longer than one week. A lot longer." 

"What has? I'm just not following your train of thought here, sorry. Did I forget an argument or something? Have you been waiting for me to apologize?" 

"God, _no_ , not you, me! I mean, no. No argument. I just..." 

"Are you sure you didn't sustain a head injury since I saw you earlier? Because I am so not getting this." 

"Argh! I... I'm..." 

"Don't say you're sorry again until you tell me what for, I'm warning you." 

Jim took in Blair's stern look, and took a deep breath. He started to speak, stopped, took another deep breath, and tried again, much more calmly. "Look, here's the deal. You said you would stay for a week, and you've stayed a lot longer than a week, and I've been an asshole, and then there was... the fountain... and... I don't want you to go." 

"Whoa." 

"Can I take a shower now?" 

"No, I don't think so. Just... let me wrap my brain around this for a sec." 

Jim obediently waited, the frenzy of getting his guilt and his worry off his chest having wound down and left him somewhat dazed and wrung out. 

"The way I remember it, I promised you I would only stay for a week, because you didn't want me to stay at all." 

"Well..." 

"I'm still here, obviously, because it seems to have been working out pretty well, with the exception of the occasional kidnapping and shooting and stuff --" 

"-- Blair!" 

"-- and yeah, we had a particularly bad spell there --" 

"-- Sandburg, you fucking _died_!" 

"Jim. Jim, I forgive you." 

"Well I fucking don't!" 

The words hung in the air, and the two men looked at one another across the small space of the sofa with twin looks of shock and horror. 

"I don't," Jim finally repeated, softly. Blair put a hand on his arm. 

"I _do_." 

"I don't see how." 

"What if the situation were reversed? Would you forgive me?" 

"No! Oh, shit, of course I would -- it's you. But you wouldn't have done it, you would have --" 

"Jim, there was blame on both sides, and we were both trying to do the right thing. It's time to put it behind us. I thought you _had_ put it behind you." 

Jim laughed, a small and strained sound that nonetheless held a hint of real humor in it. "Well, yeah, me too." 

"So... are we good?" 

"I guess so. You aren't planning on going anywhere, right?" 

"Jim... how could I leave you, man?" 

They both suddenly looked down at Blair's hand, still holding onto Jim's arm. He snatched it back quickly. 

Much more slowly, Jim reached _his_ hand out and put it on Blair's arm. 

"I... don't want you to go." 

Blue eyes met, and held, and Jim realized he could feel Blair's heartbeat through his fingertips, and that the longer they looked at one each other, really looked, the faster the pulse became. 

"Unless... maybe... you'd like to try the view from upstairs?" 

Suddenly Blair threw his arm around Jim's neck and pulled them close together. 

"One week, man," he laughed into Jim's collarbone. "Just for one week." 

* * *

End One Week by ainm: ainm@livejournal.com  
Author and story notes above.

  
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